


i have promises to keep (miles to go before i sleep)

by tosca1390



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-25
Updated: 2011-11-25
Packaged: 2017-10-26 13:07:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/283487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tosca1390/pseuds/tosca1390
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is not Jon Snow, nor Tommen’s Kingsguard, nor the Hound that find Sansa Stark at the Vale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i have promises to keep (miles to go before i sleep)

*

It is not Jon Snow, nor Tommen’s Kingsguard, nor the Hound that find Sansa Stark at the Vale.

No, it is the brothers Lannister who go to the Vale on behalf of Daenerys Targaryen, the Dragon Queen marching from the Wall, to secure the knights of the Vale from Petyr Baelish and Harrold Hardyng. When they finally arrive at the Eyrie, however, they are not met by lords.

“My lords Lannister,” the woman who is now Sansa Stark says with a slight incline of her head. Her auburn hair is braided back in a manner reminiscent of her late mother. In the torchlight she is pale and stiff-backed.

Shaking the snow from his cloak, Jaime cannot speak. He is reminded of Catelyn Stark, of a vow made. Brienne, long dead in battle with the Hound, rests at his ear then, like a dark bird.

At his side, Tyrion is equally shocked, yet never speechless. “My lady wife. I had wondered of your fate,” he says somewhat cheerfully.

Sansa smiles, but there is nothing warm in it. It reminds Jaime of Winterfell, the ruins there. The ruins in the North are not the only ones needing rebuilding, he thinks. “And I yours, my lord husband.”

At that, Jaime cannot help a small smirk. “As touching as this reunion is, lady, we are here to speak with Ser Petyr Baelish and Lord Hardyng,” he cuts in.

“We are here on behalf of Queen Daenerys, who has need of the Vale against Stannis Bartheon the usurper,” Tyrion adds, smooth and even.

Silently Sansa watches them. She cannot be more than ten-and-seven, Jaime thinks as he drags his eyes over her. Even in the great stone hall of the Eyrie, she is impressive. The world has hardened her, and loss has made her striking. The hard glint to her eyes makes him think of Cersei; the cherry pit of grief he carries with him always pangs hard and deeply.

“Littlefinger is dead,” she says after a moment, voice even.

It is the second shock of the day for both Jaime and Tyrion. Jaime casts his eyes down to his brother’s, brow furrowed. Out of all the maneuvers, the moves in the game, this was nearly the most surprising.

“How, my lady?” Tyrion asks after a moment. “Don’t tell me the Moon Door has claimed another victim.”

Her face doesn’t give an inch. She’s learned the tricks. Jaime can’t help but be impressed. “This is a treacherous place, my lord Lannister, if you do not watch your step.”

“But Lord Hardyng is still alive? For now?” Jaime interjects, voice slow with amusement.

She fixes her eyes on his, cold and hard and as blue as the velvet of her gown. “He is quite well. He will see you in his solar, once you’ve had something to eat and drink.”

With that, she turns on her heel and leads them towards the dining hall. They have their bread and salt and wine in silence. Jaime cannot keep his eyes from straying to his brother’s wife, who sits at the head of the small table with poise and ease.

The irony of it all is not lost on him.

*

The knights of the Vale are promised to the Dragon Queen with relative ease. Sansa is there at Hardyng’s side the whole time. In exchange for the knights and the supplies of the Vale, she is made guardian of Winterfell and the North and is promised vengeance for her lost family. Tyrion had known what she would want; Lord Snow, now to be King of Westeros at Daenerys’s side, had the same wishes. Hardyng will keep the Vale.

Really the Queen is quite generous with those who bend the knee. Tommen and Myrcella have been spared, the children that they are, and will be wards of the Martells. When the Tyrells come to heel, as all expect they will, she will be merciful to them as well. Jaime is spared through Tyrion’s wheedling and the Queen’s acceptance of the truth of Aerys’s rule. She had the experience with her brother in that vein, or so Tyrion had said. Grateful as he is for his brother’s smooth tongue, Jaime’s not sure whether he’s relieved for his life or not.

Now, Jaime walks the halls of the Eyrie in the deep dark night, when all the rest of the castle is abed, if not asleep. He doesn’t like snow, or the cold. Even Winterfell has been warmer than this ice castle. How anyone keeps the will to survive in this place, he’ll never understand.

He turns the corner, gold hand smoothing down the hilt of his sword. When he closes his eyes, he can hear Catelyn Stark’s vow, laced with desperation; Brienne, coughing her last as the Hound lay dying at their side, pressing the sword to his hand and wringing another promise from him. Arya Stark is still lost, perhaps always; but Sansa is found, if not whole, and he can fulfill this last vow.

Whether she will allow him to is another question altogether.

There’s a soft sound ahead of him, of shoes on stone. He looks up and finds Sansa at the end of the corridor, illuminated by torchlight. She is all paleness and gold-streaked auburn, a burning line of blue. Her hair is unbound, curly down her shoulders. There’s something soft within her in the firelight. It catches at him, right in his chest.

“Ser Jaime,” she says after a moment. “I didn’t realize anyone else was still awake.”

The cool intransigence she wore so well earlier has left her in the night. She sounds weary with loss, and he knows it well. They are the last of their kinds, truly. Tyrion is malleable to the needs of his Queen, the Hand first and a Lannister next; and Snow is a Stark no longer.

“Sleep is hard to come by, after these long years, lady,” he says, his golden hand a heavy weight on his thigh as he walks.

She smiles, and it is a brittle thing. “I am very aware, ser.”

They meet at a window, the glass frosted over. She tilts her chin up, her profile sharp in the shadowy light. “I am very tired of this place,” she says softly, almost too quiet for him to hear. But he can see the cage around her, keeping her flightless.

“I imagine it will be a relief to return to the North, then.”

“Ser, I can’t imagine a world without some sort of war. I can’t think that far past my own survival,” she says.

He thinks of Littlefinger, of the long fall down. “We had heard Lord Hardyng was to marry Littlefinger’s bastard.”

“That was to be me. Harrold and I have decided that arrangement isn’t necessary, however,” she says. She is warm next to him. The fall of her hair catches his gaze. “Besides, I am still married to your lord brother.”

“He didn’t want it, you know. He thought it cruel to you,” Jaime says, and he isn’t certain why he’s telling her this. Defending Tyrion was becoming an odd sort of second nature. The circle of their debts to one another was never ending.

Sansa shrugs. The bare skin of her collarbone reflects moonlight. “I know. He was kinder than he could have been.”

“And you were crueler than you should have been,” he says, a slow drawl through the cool air.

She shoots him an icy stare. “I was three-and-ten, and still in reach of Joffrey. Do you blame me?”

“I only deal in facts, my lady,” he retorts.

She turns back to the window, her fingers curling on the stone window ledge. “I never wish to marry again,” she says after a long moment.

He smiles crookedly. “Perhaps wise, but unlikely. The North will need heirs.”

“A Stark must always be in Winterfell,” she whispers. She sounds as young as she had been when he first saw her, at just one-and-ten.

He thinks then of Ned Stark, of Robert Baratheon, of Aerys; of how the foolish choices of boys and girls spread their claws into the future and mark all who come after.

“I made a promise to your lady mother,” he says after a long moment, turning to face her fully. The moonlight shades the curves of her face, and she looks young and soft around the mouth and eyes. She was a pretty girl before; now, she is a beautiful woman. “A vow, to bring you back to the North. I would fulfill it, with your leave.”

She faces him as well, mouth thinning and eyes blazing a cold fierce fire. “For what purpose? My mother is dead and won’t know the difference,” she says roughly.

Jaime curls his good hand into a fist at his side, swallowing. “Well, lady, I cannot trust my brother to let you go again,” he says with a sharp mocking grin.

“I don’t need a Lannister’s help, and I will not be trapped by one once more,” she says sharply.

The blood thickens in his veins. He can’t tell whether she speaks of Joffrey as his and Cersei’s, or just the cruelties of his sister. “A Lannister always pays his debts. If I live through this last battle, I will see you safely to the North,” he says curtly.

Sansa turns back to the window. Her knuckles are white on the ledge. “Good night, ser,” she says tightly.

He drops his head in a mock of a bow, and walks down the length of the corridor. His golden hand rests on the hilt of his sword. It is nights such as these when he wishes Ser Payne were still with him; he could use the brutish silence, the smack of steel against steel.

As he sleeps, ghosts breathe down his neck and into his dreams. He tosses and turns and wakes up thinking he is whole again.

It is the same every night.

At breakfast the next morning, he sits across from Sansa and sees the shadows under her eyes. As Harrold and Tyrion talk supplies and gathering the knights to be ready to leave in three days’ time, he and the lady remain quiet.

He thinks she sleeps just as well as he does.

*


End file.
